Lucky
by Phantoms Little Lotte
Summary: Roger explains why exactly he is 'extraordinary'. MR oneshot


A/N: Wow...you know what this is, right? This, my friends, is my TWENTIETH RENT fan fiction. 20! That's...that's a lot! Lol, you know what that means, right? That means that your author, Lauren over here, has A LOT of time on her hands and nothing to do but write with said time. Well hey...makes me happy. Hope it makes you happy too! I liked this fic, so please, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own Roger or Mark or Tiger Beat or People or April or...think that's it...only thing I own is my story. My twentieth RENT story...ah, never get tired of saying that lol.

* * *

When I was a little kid, I knew I was destined to be extraordinary. I just knew.

But I always thought it was my music that would bring me there.

I'd be young, 18 or 19 years old, when I'd land my first record deal. I'd be on every cover of every magazine, from Tiger Beat to People, and girls of all ages would swoon over me as I played the number 1 song on the billboard charts. Soon, directors from all over would see my talent and cast me as the romantic lead in their movies, raising my level of fame even higher.

In my mind, this is what I would achieve, no problem. There was nothing in my way.

But only, there was something. A few things, actually. Like my drug addiction and my poverty and my girlfriend committing suicide and the fact I contracted AIDS.

Suddenly, life wasn't like I dreamed it would be. An easy street to fame, fortune, girls, huge mansions in LA, cars, and whatever else I wanted.

But here's the thing. I'm _still _extraordinary. Want to know why?

Because out of the millions of people on earth, there's only one person on this earth, on this huge, ugly, green planet, that Mark Cohen, filmmaker and beautiful person in general loves.

And that's me.

Guess how I knew. Guess.

Too bad, I'll tell you anyway.

Well, one day I was in my bedroom, trying to create yet another song that eventually went down in flames, when I saw a silhouette in my doorway. It was early, like 3 AM maybe, so I was scared to death, thinking it was some crazy maniac trying to kill me.

But when the killer flipped on the light switch, I saw that it was really Mark. Watching me. He didn't say a word, he just...watched.

That was the thing about Mark. As a filmmaker, he was content doing just that. Watching people. I mean, I get bored out of my mind when he makes me do this with him, but he drags me down to Central Park constantly and just observes the people there, sometimes jotting down notes in a journal. Woman with baby carriage, or elder feeding pigeons, or old man chasing his hat being torn away by the wind.

Thinking on it now, I never found out why he took these notes. But it kind of calmed him down.

Anyway, he just watched me with my guitar. My guitar was electric, so when it wasn't plugged in, it made virtually no sound at all unless you listened closely. That couldn't be why he came to see me. I was thinking maybe I left the milk out of something. Mark always made a point not to leave out food, seeing as it was hard enough obtaining anything edible.

He walked over to me, _still _not saying anything, and really, just freaking me out in general. What did I do to piss him off? Would he kill me? I was still mourning over the loss of my girlfriend at the time, so depression hit in, leaving me to ask:

_Would anyone notice and/or care that I was gone, anyway?_

But he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He grabbed the back of my head with his right hand, grabbing a fistful of my hair as he did it. He put his left hand on my thigh and pulled me close, kissing me.

At first, I couldn't think. It's not like I didn't try or anything. I seriously did. But when my thoughts came out...well...they came out like this:

_But-he's-we're-kissing my-how did he-roommate-what?_

But as the kiss intensified and as he pulled me closer, I couldn't imagine anywhere I'd rather be. As guilty as I feel saying this, if I had the option to bring April back and be in the same position with her, I wouldn't've done it.

It was all about Mark. Mark here. Mark with me. Mark holding me and wanting me and embracing _me. _

_Lucky, lucky me._

He pulled away, still said nothing and casually walked out of the room. So I chased him out, pushed him against the metal door to our loft and kissed him with even more passion than he had kissed me before.

This was it.

He was who I wanted to be with until I...

Until I eventually...

Well anyway, that is what makes me extraordinary. It's not music or fame or movies or magazine covers or money.

It's because this beautiful, beautiful man loves me.

Lucky, lucky me.


End file.
